Master of Death
by ReconstructWriter
Summary: The dead have inherited the earth and to survive Rick just might have to trust their master. Crossover with Harry Potter.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: It's been a little too long since I've posted anything and the stories I'm working on need a lot more work but I've been getting into a non-posting rut. So in the meantime enjoy this little drabble series :)

 **The Bullet**

Rick gripped his gun with tense fingers, approaching the criminal when the snap of a flag caught his ears. He turned his gaze. Nothing but cloudless blue sky. Again he heard a snap-whump from the sky, closer now, like a flag in harsh wind but heavier; a leathery sound right in the direction he was staring. Again he saw nothing.

No…wait, something rippled in the endless bright blue overhead. His hat shaded his eyes from the unforgiving sun's glare but he needed to squint a little to ward off any mirage. As though the clear sky was only cloth cloaking someone and the breeze nudged the fabric off, a sliver of pale skin and messy black hair appeared out of thin air. Just that fraction of face hung in the middle of the sky with no chin, no neck, no body, no nothing to support it. The heavy beat emanated from near the features but nothing else could be seen.

An eye glanced at him for the briefest of moments and Rick could not look away, as though if he blinked this odd figment would vanish. Without taking his eyes off the watcher, the eye turned away and another mirage-like ripple folded blue sky back over the face. When Shane looked up, nothing was there.

"Head in the game partner."

Rick nodded, though he could still hear the odd, rhythmic beating of something in the sky as he turned back toward the suspect. The armed suspect.

"Put the gun down."

The strange beating, like a heart, died as gunfire tore through the still, spring day. A strange haze suddenly fell over his vision.

Rick never felt the impact of a bullet.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you everyone who favorited and followed. I've had a lot of inspiration for this story so it's gonna be a little longer than I thought. As to my guest reviewer: next chapter coming right up :D

 **The Call**

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod get over here she's _eating_ _ **him**_!"

"What street."

"1623…Lowry Dr—"

"—We're on our way," Rick said calmly. "Stay in a safe place. Lock your doors. Do not approach the cannibal and if you have to defend yourself aim for the head."

Not waiting for a response, he shouted "Shane, another!"

His partner appeared with half a dozen guns. "Figured that. We don't get calls about trespassers anymore." He handed over one of the assault rifles slung over his shoulder and a shotgun he was carrying. Rick almost laughed, remembering those days when they could afford to carry only revolvers and not need them.

Those days were dead.

What had happened to the world? He settled the bullet-proof vest on his shoulders, its weight reassuring rather than heavy now. Over that he slipped on a tough leather jacket. Once their lives had been peaceful. The car-chase—a lifetime ago—had been the most excitement he'd ever seen as a cop. Before. Now the two of them left an empty department behind as they got to the only police car left, armed and armored enough for a war.

A war it was—against the dead.

"How long can we keep this up?" Shane asked as he drove.

Rick shrugged. They were both packing some pretty impressive bags beneath his eyes and the car stank of sweat, blood and grease. He would have liked to tell Shane to take the night off, but neither of them could afford such a luxury anymore. The King's County police department had never been particularly well-staffed. Never needed to be. Now, between the cops fleeing to be with family and those dead in the line of duty, he and Shane were the only ones left. And how long would they last?

"Need to move into that damn office," Shane commented. "Us and our families. No use going home."

"You may be right; more defendable than our houses," Rick said. Still, the thought of leaving their homes felt suspiciously like giving up; turning their backs on civilization like everyone else; abandoning the living to the dead. A move he couldn't bring himself to make. Not yet.

"Especially those glass doors Lori insisted on," Shane commented.

Rubber burnt the air as Shane slammed on the breaks, halting from one-sixty and nearly plowing into the front door. Rick aimed his revolver at the lurching figure turning toward them before opening the door. "Hands up! Say your name!"

A familiar rasp crawled from the woman's throat. Rick shouted the order twice more just to be sure but blood stained the woman's face and he was pretty certain 'rahhh' wasn't her name.

Rick pulled the trigger.

The following silence was broken only by a heavy flag snapping in the wind, then Shane's boots as he climbed to the top of the police car. Rick joined him, ignoring the bright lights and waiting. Sure enough, several more staggered toward them, drawn by light and gunfire.

Four more shots rang out before the only cops left in King County approached the door, Rick with knife and gun at the ready, his partner covering him with an assault rifle. He knocked. "Anyone still living in there."

"Yes! They're in here!" Someone panicked.

Shane blew off the lock and Rick kicked in the door—another handy skill when civilization went to shit. Sure enough rasps and moans from the dining room alongside a more worrisome stench of guts. Someone was being eaten—or had been eaten. A family of three was huddled behind an overturned table, the dead closing in. The mother had a drawer half-open, drawing a knife when one of the attackers grabbed her, pulling her arm toward its blood-stained teeth. She yanked back but the thing was larger and stronger and dragged her inexorably toward its jaws.

Blam.

A spray of gore shot out its head in the wake of Rick's bullet. The thing fell, dragging the struggling woman with it.

"Hands up! Say your name!" Shane bellowed at the remaining attackers.

They turned glazed, pale eyes between family and police officers as though still able to see but never spoke. Two more shots rang out. The pair lowered their guns but kept themselves ready. Sometimes the living were more dangerous than the dead. They'd been attacked by desperate people, looking to seize weapons for themselves.

"Are they…dead?" the woman pried tense fingers off her arm.

"Properly dead now," Shane nudged the bodies with his gun. One of them had their stomach eaten out. That explained the stench. "When they're like this only a head-shot will put them down."

The father slumped with relief, "Thank you. For a second there I thought…oh God…I have never been so glad to see a cop in all my life. I'm Morgan. This is Jenny and our son Duane."

Rick smiled guilelessly, "You'd have done the same for me."

"You wouldn't want him to," Duane spoke up. "Dad's a lousy shot."

Movement caught Rick's eye out the glass side-door. People. Not lurching like the dead but not running as if chased by those things. Ahead rode a figure on horseback and even in the feeble light he could tell something was wrong. The lurching dead closing in on the house inspired swift fear, adrenaline-fueled fear but the rider gave him a deep, leaden lump of fear in his heart. Inevitable fear. The living followed the terrifying figure into the shadows, ignored by the dead limping to the door. "We need to leave. It's not safe here anymore. Pack up everything you can."

"Where is safe anymore?" asked Jenny calmly. She picked up the kitchen knife and glanced shrewdly at the approaching dead.

The rider turned toward him and drew something, holding it like a weapon. Rick ducked behind a wall, away from the door. "The police station…for now. Shane, can you pick up your wife and my wife and son?"

"Yeah. I'll get them."

"You can ride with us," Morgan offered to Rick.

"Then you take the police car," Rick told Shane. "I'll meet you at the station." Gun drawn, he stepped away from the wall, ready to face the reaper.

Everyone was gone.

 **A/N:** Hope everyone enjoyed this little snippet of what Rick's life would be like—and what he would be like—if he hadn't been in a coma.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Again thank you everyone who reviewed, favorite and followed :D This next segment might have a few spoilers for Fear of the Walking Dead but only vague references for what happened during the collapse of civilization Rick slept through in canon. This scene takes place just before the establishment of the camp outside Atlanta.

RaayJ: If you want to read their relationship that way, I'm definitely leaving it subtly ambiguous ;) but that's still a few chapters off.

 **The Escape**

"Over here! Over here!" Rick bellowed. "Come get me!"

The dead obeyed, baring rotted teeth and lurching toward him. How was this his life? Two months ago he'd been a small-town deputy sheriff from Kentucky, his most life-threatening ordeal a car chase and a dazed human criminal.

Gaping jaws descended to tear apart his shoulder and Rick dodged, brittle enamel snapping shut inches from his flesh. Grasping fingers tried to close around him as a dozen, maybe two dozen corralled him.

the herd descended upon him with the inevitability of a tsunami. One gripped the leather collar. A swing of his ax and he ran on, an arm clinging to his bicep. Couldn't stop, otherwise they'd complete the circle and tear him apart. Another shuffler got in his way. Rick swung, ignoring the spray of brains and blood, the stench of putrid flesh. He needed to get away from Lori and Carl. Shane would get them to safety. His partner wouldn't let him down. Meantime he had to keep these things focused on him. It was his family's only chance. "Here! Here!"

Their names were on the tip of his tongue but Rick dared not speak aloud lest Carl or Lori turn toward him or stop even for a precious moment. A pulled trigger tore a bullet through another walker and the powerful noise drew the attention of more creatures. Probably every single undead in the death trap Atlanta had become. Good. Flesh eating corpses focused on him weren't focused on his wife or son.

Shooting another in the nose, Rick ran for the fire escape and gripped the first rung. Dead hands followed, clasping his ankles fast, pulling him down. Body rigid, fingers digging into metal, Rick hauled his whole body up on the strength of his arms alone. A month ago he might not have been able to do it. _Before_ he would have been dragged to his death but now, muscles straining, he yanked his legs free. The metal below him clanged as another set of fingers gripped it, climbing after him. Teeth clacked, rhythmic as hooves. He dared not look back, focusing only on rough, rusted metal beneath his calloused fingers. The clanging died off. The walker must have only managed one or two before falling. Rick grasped the sandpaper-harsh concrete roof with both hands and pulled himself to the top.

"Graahh."

One hand buried his ax sunk deep in the head of the raspy voice before fully seeing the corpse, but the blade had hit helmet and seized fast. He rolled to the top of the building. An aerial transport, larger than a helicopter but not plane-shaped, half-hung off the former mall roof. Undead soldiers, more than a dozen, staggered toward the struggle.

Rick shoved the barrel of his revolver beneath the helmet of the ax-headed walker and pulled the trigger at point-blank range.

Click.

"Shit!"

Drawing his knife, he stabbed the walker and drew it back dark with liquid. Another undead, jaw gaping, gripping double handfuls of his jacket, trapped him. More followed. Rick's blade sank through the chin, clacking the mouth together, past the upper jaw and into the brain. Two hundred plus pounds of limp, dead flesh clad in more than a hundred pounds of body armor and equipment fell on top of him. Legs trapped, Rick propped himself up with one hand to face the remaining former soldiers. They knelt before him, hungry.

Rick slashed the throat of the largest one, bathing his chest and head in a shower of gore, then stabbed the skull. The body fell on him, pressing his back against cold stone, squeezing at his lungs and threatening a bruised rib but more hands tugged futilely at the body. All he had to do was wait. Let them lose interest in the unmoving, dead-smelling thing.

Snap-whump, snap-whump, snap-whump.

A pair of hands grasped his ankles, pulling him slowly out from beneath the first corpse. Teeth sank into boot leather. Rick feebly kicked the gnawing jaws, sending the walker's head rocking back but the movement attracted more. Tearing the knife free of the last corpse, he wriggled his arm loose and pulled his legs toward his body as much as possible. They knew he was alive now. The soldiers covering him were not cover enough and too heavy to push aside. Rick kicked at faces with his boots, stabbed at any in range but unlike living beings thrashing only drew these predators closer.

Snap-whump, snap-whump, snap-whump.

He was going to die. After all the hell he'd gone through, living through countless terrifying investigations of death and cannibalism, futile warnings of the truth, military round-up and the final fall of civilization, Rick Grimes was going to bite it on a rooftop. This anarchic world held no place for a man of law and order. Diseased jaws closed in. He was going to die.

Fear of death ran from him. Rick's heart stilled to a stony slab and with that hardness on his face, heedless of fetid fingernails or infested teeth, he stabbed. He would die but the next poor soul who came up here just might survive.

"Halt!"

As though their former soldier minds had risen from the dead, the armored walkers obeyed, each and every one freezing in place. Rick too froze in utter shock.

But only for a second. Those who freeze don't survive the apocalypse. Writhing like a hooked fish, he slipped free from one body, then rolled the other one off and staggered away from the death-trap of walkers. None of them twitched.

Snap-whump, snap-whump, snap-whump.

Rick looked up.

The dying sun barely shed any light on the figure of a horse, black skin stretched tight over bones. Had this curse finally infected animals? He raised the knife when the last ray of sunlight vanished and the head snapped toward him.

Not a horse's head, not any equine or any animal Rick had ever seen living. Those eerie, glowing white eyes belonged in horror stories and glared from within a face closer-kin to the dragons from Carl's fantasy movies than anything real. The skeletal frame was only approximately equine; the neck bent serpentine and massive, leathery bat-like wings tipped with sharp claws beat in an odd, steady rhythm, suspending the creature in mid-air. Between those wings sat a saddle and another being shrouded in black: black pants, black shirt, black boots, all covered with a black cloak and hood save for the gleam of something metal. The figure's head turned his way: pale-skinned, black haired and green eyed.

Fear jolted Rick back to life. His legs thought before his brain and spurred him away from the roof, managing a leap he'd previously thought impossible. Adrenaline sang like a rock concert in his veins. Only one thought ran through his mind to describe who he'd seen:

Death.

He feared it would give him no second chance. Several buildings away, when he finally re-gained the courage to turn his head around, the figure atop his black h-steed was gone.

Yet he was a familiar face.

A/N: In this AU Rick doesn't get shot so he experiences the joys of the zombie apocalypse along with everyone else instead of getting to sleep through it all. The only reason the comics and TV show did that was to have a main character in the same situation as the reader/watcher: not knowing what the hell is going on. Since all you guys know about the zombie apocalypse I can explore different twists.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Glad everyone has enjoyed this so far. This scene is from canon but a butterfly's wings don't always create hurricanes, sometimes the changes are as small as where a hand reaches—or when a gun is fired!

Katbasted: Glad you like my alternate history, I'm having fun exploring it :D

RaayJ: Thank you for the wonderful review! The second chapter was all about me trying to kill Rick and him squirming free until Harry swooped in ;) hope you like this chapter too!

 **The Rumor**

"I heard Nebraska's nice." Rick spoke in a cultivated tone; whisper enough to be quiet, powerful enough to carry to living ears who needed to hear. Yet another necessity in the world of the dead.

"Heh, heh, Nebraska." Dave's arm twitched, not the hand but the whole arm, the beginning of a committed movement toward his pistol. Rick's hand all but teleported, the revolver half-drawn before the other man switched directions, grabbing a bottle instead of a semi-automatic like 'aha I meant to do that' and taking a deep swig. His other hand remained no more than a foot away from the gun but Rick's shoulders relaxed slightly.

He slid the revolver back in its holster and relaxed his grip, almost shocked at how fast he'd taken it out. Always a quick-draw but since Atlanta, since being separated from his family and whole group, he'd become lightning fast. Life depended on speed.

"No way am I going to Nebraska…haven't you heard Rick? The Reaper's there." Dave visibly coiled in on himself. Rick strained his ears but couldn't hear the sound like a wet flag beating in strong wind.

"The reaper's everywhere," Tony added, eyes twitching as though the mention of his title would materialize a black figure on horseback. "They say in Maine too, or Washington too, dunno which one, or on some private island."

"Reaper?" Rick whispered, keeping an eye on Dave's movements. Not obviously; thirty days alone had taught him much. Not when the pistol laid down on the counter would be easier to snatch, easier to bring to shoulder level and those rough, dirty hands never strayed more than a foot away. Often a person's hands gave away their thought. The feint toward the bottle was only a delay. Dave knew he wasn't getting the farm without a little blood spilled.

Rick was the faster draw so the other man needed a distraction.

Fingers almost touching the pistol, Dave leaned over dark wood, knowing eyes boring into Rick's. "Don't play dumb like that. Doesn't suit a smart guy like you Rick. You know who I'm talking about. You know _what_ ," he enunciated sharply, "I'm talking about. Tall guy. Thin. Almost skeletal really," he grinned like he'd been waiting to use the last line for years.

"Riding that unnatural…thing," Tony added.

Rick was poised to strike as any coiled rattler before two men who could kill him in an instant. Who would kill him in an instant's diversion. That's what this was, a distraction. But they couldn't have picked a more tempting one. The being he'd run into twice. The one who might not be a hallucination after all. Curiosity uncoiled and slithered through a hole in hard-packed survival instinct.

"You've seen him?"

Triumph flashed across Dave's face. He settled into an easy drawl. "Seen him? Hah, funny guy. Course I haven't. People who see the Grim Reaper—they don't get the chance to tell other people. He leads them," a deliberately ominous pause, "Away."

"And nobody ever sees them again," Tony added unnecessarily, hand drifting near the trigger.

Then where do the stories come from? Rick wondered but kept silent. Dave continued. "Don't dare raise a weapon against him neither or you're dead in a flash of light. Just like that." A snap of fingers. Rick has to force himself not to tense; not to focus on one man over the other; to keep them both in sight. "Or he disappears and he's behind you…just like that." Another snap of fingers.

"You know what he is?" How did this man know so much—more than himself who had seen the strange figure twice now—about a being he supposedly had never seen.

"Heard things, rumors everywhere about him. They say he commands the dead; lords over them. Has a castle out somewhere guarded by hordes of those lame-brains. Someone in Jersey said that's where he takes people. Big old castle built outta bones. Promises them safety and then," the man made a motion with his hand and even Hershel tensed.

Dave's other hand never strayed closer to his gun.

"You know when he showed up?" Rick dared ask.

Dave lowered his arm to the bar, curling fingers just barely hiding the gun. "Round the time this whole thing started, like some vengeful demon."

Then why did Reaper save him? By all rights that bullet should have killed him; the walkers should have torn him apart. Instead lead bounced off of some kind of transparent shield and the walkers froze as if by magic.

Tony spoke, directing all attention to him. "The fucking angel of death. That's what he is and ain't no place, no damn farm safe from—"

Rick was focused on the shotgun and the finger curling around the trigger but sensed—like the breath of death on the back of his neck—Dave drawing his gun. Rick took a knee.

Crack.

"—the likes of _it_ ," Tony finished, bringing his shotgun to his cheek.

The first bullet flew over his head. Dave's trigger finger squeezed again in tandem to Tony's but Rick moved like lightning, whipping his gun out and firing it twice, in opposite directions. His opponents didn't have such good aim. The shotgun blew a hole through the chair beside Rick before falling away as Tony died, a hole bored in his head. Dave fought through the pain in his shoulder to raise his gun.

Crack.

Dave died.

Rick listened.

A pounding beat, but only his heart. Adrenaline receded as quickly as if he'd been in a car accident, leaving a vague twinge of uneasiness. No leathery, flag-snap sound of beating wings to elicit fear.

"Guess this reaper is a little too busy to stop by every little death," Herschel commented.

Glenn shook his head. "Grim reaper, that's crazy. They're crazy."

"We live in a crazy world Glenn," Rick said but didn't bother defending himself any further. Sometimes, especially as days wore on at the farm, he wondered if the strange figure was nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

Footsteps came unexpectedly but the fellow gang members were no personifications of death.

* * *

A/N: Just a little scene that was perfect to expand on. A grim reaper-like figure would be nearly as interesting a topic of conversation as the walking dead: something everyone who meets each other would talk about if they exchanged two words. Besides, Dave saw how fast Rick was just in time and knew he needed a distraction. Didn't work obviously but he seems like the kind of guy who tries to distract and reassure.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Glad people keep reviewing, favoriting and following this :D This scene isn't exactly canon but alludes to canon events in season 3.

 **The Hallucination**

"You're a hallucination too, aren't you Reaper?" Rick said, staggering toward the pale figure on his black…thing, past the safety of the fence. Between all the visions of Lori and the dead, jangling phone, Rick kept just enough scraps of sanity to figure he was going crazy. And this? Had to be another delusion.

"Dave…he was just trying to pull one over me. A fast one in me." Rick's smile was a brittle crack in concrete.

At least this particular figment of deranged imagination finally had the courtesy to visibly step out during the daytime. Reaper rode the same creature: a nightmare of too-sharply protruding bones against black skin, ribs rising and falling with breath the way even walkers didn't, though it should be just as dead. Demonic fangs gleamed from its closed mouth. Predatory. Most of Reaper was covered in a strange black cloak, save his head. The man's revealed face was sharp and almost corpse-pale. Was Reaper as dead as his steed?

If so he looked a damn sight better than the walkers stumbling around.

Rick's eyes were automatically drawn to the broadsword resting at the man's hip. No gold or silver or fancy jewels on blade or hilt but a black stone was set in the pommel. A gem too black to be obsidian or ebony or any stone from this world; a gem the shade of a black hole, sucking in all light. Rick tore his gaze away from that deathly gem and into Reaper's eyes. An unnatural shade of green. He'd have thought Reaper's eyes would be black.

"Just a hallucination," he murmured, shaking his head.

"Am I?" Reaper looked amusingly down at himself. "Keep thinking that, if you like. Halt!" The last word was struck with such command that Rick obeyed. Then he snapped himself out of it and glanced warily behind him.

Rotted human teeth stopped less than an inch from his exposed shoulder. Rick fought the urge to jerk away and took only a cautious step back. The walker didn't move. Slipping out his revolver, he nudged the thing on the head, ready to pull the trigger or pull back at any sign of movement but the creature stayed as stiff and still as a proper dead corpse.

He stepped to the side, keeping an eye both on Reaper and the frozen walker, "Are you a delusion?"

"Wouldn't a delusion say no?"

"Lori never said anything." Rick bit back his next retort. Be polite to the possibly-real death god. "What's your name?"

"My name?" An amused smile curled young lips. Rick was surprised he had missed it, just how young this personification of death was. Looked barely old enough to drink. "Call me Harry."

What an ordinary name, if that was his real one. The name told him nothing. "—What are you?"

"The Master of Death."

Rick blinked. The tone had been so matter-of-fact, as easy as when he said his own name, but the words…he could hear the capitals in Rea—Harry's voice. Those words hit his head over and over again, freezing his gaze. Master of Death. He was real. Was Dave right? Had Har—Reaper done all this? Was his savior some sort of demon? Despite a fight for evenness, his voice came out hoarse, as though he'd screamed so much only a rasp was left to give. "Did you… _cause_...all this?" He waved a hand at the approaching walkers.

"No."

Rick didn't hear the icy voice, thoughts whirling in his head like a tornado. "Do you control all the dead? You control them." He glanced between the frozen walker and Harry. "You made them stop when I…" He paused, mind leaps and bounds beyond his words. His voice grew louder, into a shout thought dead. "Why didn't you stop this? You were there. With me. Before the beginning. Why does this world exist," again he gestured toward more approaching walkers. Tone going quiet, he continued, "Why didn't you save them…save us?"

"I am not a god," Harry said.

Bellowing now, he couldn't stop. "My wife! She was _eaten_ by one of those things! Why don't you tell them all to stop! What have we done to deserve this—this _apocalypse_." He ended raggedly.

"Nothing," Harry said, softly now. "But I am no god and have been doing everything I can to help." A moment of silence where Rick felt like an insect studied beneath a microscope. "There is safety. I have built a fort for the living, a far homelier place than a prison to raise your daughter."

The last word flipped a switch in his mind. Blind madness filled him. Rick charged, teeth bared like an animal. "Don't you dare come near my dau—" A flash of light. He was caught in mid-rush by something unnatural. Every muscle in his body suddenly went rigid as any walker Rea—Harry had commanded. Did his powers extend to the living as well? Rick fought against invisible bonds, but couldn't move more than his eyes.

Face like marble, Harry snapped, "I was merely offering you and yours hospitality. Will you come?"

The unnaturalness lifted. Rick could stand once more. "No," he growled, turning his back on Harry. "You didn't save her. You can't save us." With a last flash of teeth he turned away, smashing one approaching walker in the head, venting his rage on the dead that dared move.

The prison gates slammed shut behind him.

"What were you doing out there?" Hershel asked, leaning on one crutch.

"Just…having a conversation with one of my hallucinations," Rick said, trying for an easy tone. From the pale look on the older man's face, he'd obviously failed.

Hershel nodded hesitantly, staring wide-eyed beyond the fence, his voice soft with dread, "I see."

A/N: Hope everyone enjoyed! I had to put crazy Rick in this at one point, if only because he's not making his best decisions now. Still this is season 3 and he's at his low point for trusting people. If he's willing to be so horrible to Tyresse and his group, Harry and his thestral don't look like the sort you take the word of.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you so much everyone who favorited, followed and especially everyone who reviewed! I'm so grateful for your insight :D Get ready for another time-skip into season four.

 **Disappearance**

"Something wrong?" Rick asked as Daryl tore his motorcycle to a stop beside him, a young buck slung over his shoulders. He couldn't imagine what had put such a scowl on the hunter's face after a successful kill but his hand strayed automatically toward a holster. Empty. Right, he was a farmer now.

"Was tracking a horse. Thought we could use another." Rick nodded. "Damnest thing up and vanished on me. What'r you doin' out? An' no gun?"

"Just checking snares. Nothing," Rick shook his head.

"Coulda told ya that. Got this buck nearly a day's ride out and that's the closest I've seen an animal in weeks. Need a ride?"

"Thanks." Rick slung himself on the motorcycle and the pair took off. Where were these vanishing horse tracks? Tracks don't vanish on you." Daryl was better than a hound dog when it came to tracking.

"Middle of a camp-site. Never seen nothin' like it though. Tracks stopped in the middle of a deserted campsite. Jus' stopped. Not another hoof track within a hundred yards of the place. Spent the rest of the daylight checking." They slowed as someone opened the gates, eyeing Daryl's kill eagerly. "Like the damn thing grew wings and jus' flew away."

Rick froze half-way off the bike, remembering one horse…or horse-like creature, that could fly.

"A horse with wings," Hershel pondered, raising an eyebrow to Rick as he limped toward the pair. "Perhaps the horse of death."

"It was a hallucination," Rick muttered unconvincingly.

"Then it is the only one I shared with you, out there," Hershel admitted. "I too saw a pale figure atop a black horse, one with wings like a demon."

"Yer both hallucinatin'," Daryl concluded.

"Like you hallucinated the chupacabra?" Hershel asked, "Hoof tracks vanishing into thin air would seem to argue with you. And as I recall another couple of young fellows mentioned a similar being."

Daryl frowned, "Suppose the campsite decided to fly away too. Wasn't just deserted. There weren't no tracks leaving. Like everyone there had vanished too."

Rick remembered the offer he'd been given, a safe place. Had the horse been Reaper's. Had he been there, giving another group of folks the same offer? "Where was all this? Close?" He glanced around beyond the walkers clawing at the fence, searching for a more dangerous being.

"Naw. Made pretty good time on them back-roads. Not too much trouble. Musta been near Florida. Thought I saw a state sign." He hauled the buck toward their butcher, keeping his pace easy for Hershel to match. The other two fell in step beside him.

"Any horse tracks anywhere nearby?" Their fences wouldn't stop anything with wings.

"Not around here," Hershel said, "Except our own horses. I've been doing what border patrol I can with these." He nodded to his crutches.

"Picked the horse tracks just before turnin' back, couple miles before the campsite. Definitely someone ridin' it cause animals don't move in such straight lines. Camped there, searched soon as the sun woke up, found nothin' and turned around." Daryl paused. "You knew 'em?"

For a moment Rick thought back to their encounters, all three, maybe four over the last what? Two years? "No," he said at last. "No one I know at all. Was there any signs of what happened to the people? Of a struggle? Blood?"

Daryl accepted that. "Naw, just a buncha clear tracks standin' in a circle. Nothin' else. Should we check for disappearing tracks around here?"

"That would be a good idea," Rick said softly. His group wasn't going to be disappeared like that camp. Just as well he hadn't taken Reaper up on his offer. He'd made a lot of crazy, stupid decisions in his insanity but that wasn't one of them. The prison was safe. They had their crops growing, their animals. No way would he or his family give this up to chase an empty promise.

He passed the pig pen. "I don't want death hanging around here," Rick said. "Get the council together. We need to organize some watches."

"Watches for what?" Carol interrupted, pulling her water bucket away from the pig trough.

"They dangerous, this rider?" Daryl asked.

"Reaper," Rick corrected, remembering a flash of light, a commanding voice to halt the dead in their tracks again. Again he looked out past the fence, past the ever-present walkers for a horse-backed rider or living figures wandering away. Nothing.

"Yeah, he's dangerous. More dangerous than anyone else, living or dead."

"Where?" Carol asked.

"Couple hundred miles out probably," Rick soothed. Daryl nodded in agreement. "No need to scare everyone with boogymen. Just set up a second watch ourselves. Concealed snipers. Day and night. Keep an eye to the skies and an ear open for heavy wings beating."

Carol nodded, "I'll take first night shift."

"Okay, hopefully it's nothing. Should be nothing."

"You can't keep death away Rick," Hershel said. "But I won't tell anyone, not that anyone would believe. Not without seeing."

"Reaper," he muttered absently, as though expecting the mysterious being to appear. "Why are you here?" He spoke of helping people, of a safe place but these days no one was that good. Everyone had their dark past, their frightening monster hidden inside humanity or their secret in a Stepford village. Besides, those two guys he'd shot, they'd been terrified of Reaper. Had they escaped his mysterious haven?

Even if he'd been telling the truth Rick had no interest in throwing away solid, protective fences, growing plants and thriving animals for a supposed haven.

"Rick?" Carol asked.

"Just…be ready tonight."

"I will be. I want to keep death away too." Carol finished with the pigs.

No snipers needed to fire. Neither Rick, nor any of the others reported so much as hearing a wing-beat day or night. No sign of Harry.

Death visited anyway.

A/N: Again thank you to everyone for their insight. This became a very different chapter than what it originally was and I think it's a more interesting one for everyone's input. It's certainly going to lead better into what I've got planned ;) Abandoned campsites with everyone disappeared does not the most trustworthy impression make.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Again thank you everyone for all your support! Here's the next chapter. A little longer than normal and hopefully a lot more exciting :D

 **The Termination**

Rick felt whatever frail hopes he clung to sink like a piece of driftwood. Great gray plumes rose from the supposed safe camp Terminus and nothing good came from thunder-cloud smoke.

"Maybe they invited the wrong people in," Michonne said.

"Maybe some are still alive." Carl broke into a jog.

"Easy," Rick held his son back. "We've got no idea who they were fighting—or why." Michonne drew her sword. Daryl held his crossbow against one shoulder. Carl and Rick drew their pistols; everyone approached stealthily with weapons raised.

"Damn," Michonne whispered as they got their first good look at the camp. Former camp. Their hopes of finding anyone alive died.

Once the place had been nearly as large as the prison: a series of heavy brick buildings surrounded with fencing. The chain-link didn't surround as much land as the prison's and most of it was covered over by old concrete but their former group could have joined without over-crowding the place. Rick briefly wondered how the Terminus camp farmed. The fences weren't as many or as hefty as what surrounded the prison but sturdy enough to keep walkers out. Even now the chain link stood intact.

Something about seeing a near-perfectly standing fence surrounding an enormous pile of ashes and a few bits of rubble bothered him. Walkers wandered aimlessly, no living around to attract their attention.

"How did the attackers get in?" Carl asked.

"Wait. Look!" A new voice cut in. Weapon already pointed on autopilot, Rick realized who the speaker was.

"Carol?" Daryl asked as she slipped down to join them, a scoped rifle against her eye.

"What is it?" Rick asked, stopping any reunion.

"People and…" her face twisted in confusion, then disbelief. "…and you need to see for yourself."

Michonne took the rifle and held it next to her eye. "Oh my god," she whispered.

"Some hallucination," Daryl turned away from the scope and stared straight at him.

"Then it's something we're all hallucinating," Carol pointed out dryly.

Rick didn't gape when it was his turn to peer through the rifle. Har—Reaper. The Master of Death. Cloaked in black with his back turned to them. This time he was surrounded by people. Two different groups. One armored and bristling with guns, swords, knives; half a dozen strong. The other group was larger but armed with whatever they'd been able to pick up in the heat of the fight. Aside from makeshift weapons they had nothing but the clothes on their backs and not a whole lot of those.

"What do we do now?" Carl asked.

"That… being on the horse creature. Their group burned this place. They've got blow-torches," Michonne said.

Rick took a second look. "Yeah." Maybe it was just as well the prison had taken the flu instead of Reaper. The governor at his worst, when he'd torn their safe haven apart, hadn't done half the damage to the prison as Reaper and his group had done to this place.

"We take them out?" Carl asked.

"They're armed. Armored. And I've met their leader before. He's…strange. Can control walkers and freeze a person in place."

Everyone looked at Rick as if he was strange.

"The whole camp is crawling with walkers, none goin' after those groups. You think he brought them in?" Daryl asked, stifling any questions of Rick's judgment.

"Probably. Daryl you can track these people?"

"A group that size? Blind-folded."

"We follow them from a distance, see where they're camped but don't attack. Not yet."

"We should disguise ourselves," Michonne suggested.

"As walkers," Carol added. "We'd be able to get through the herd faster and no one notices individual walkers."

Rick handed the rifle back to Carol. "Let's get started then."

"God!" Carol's trigger finger twitched. The gun stayed thankfully silent.

"What happened?" Michonne asked.

"They just…disappeared. Most of the group. _Vanished_. How is that possible?"

"We could take him alone?" Daryl asked.

"Maybe," Rick whispered, hesitating. Remembering the man's other powers.

"Is he bullet-proof?" Carol asked.

"He said he wasn't a god…"

Carol didn't hesitate. Laying prone she sighted the crosshairs right on Reaper's head. "Wait!" Rick hissed.

The shot rang out, giving their presence and location away immediately but the bullet had already slammed into its target.

Reaper collapsed.

"Done." Carol lowered the rifle.

Reaper stood back up, twisted and vanished.

"Oh shi—" before Rick could even finish the curse the Master of Death appeared right in front of them with a soft pop. Just appeared from thin air.

Unlike the last time Rick had seen him, the Master of Death's hood fell down and cloak opened to reveal head to toe armor. Carol's bullet was squashed flat against the side of his helmet. A gun was holstered at his hip. One hand gripped the sword with the eerie pommel; the other held a thin stick, the same stick he used to do impossible things.

"It's very rude to shoot people," he commented lightly, pointing the wood toward them.

Those words shook them from their stupor. Trigger fingers squeezed. A second bullet knocked Reaper in the head and a third in the torso. Daryl's crossbow bolt found a chink in the armor and hit deep. Michonne used the shots as a distraction, drawing in close, sword slashing toward his throat.

But Reaper wasn't down, not even with two bullets and a crossbow bolt. His wand snapped up, the real danger, Rick knew. Instead of aiming at the person, he sighted down the colt's barrel at the stick twisting toward them.

Only to find himself holding a snake.

Rick threw his former gun away before his brain finished 'what the fuck!' The cobra's fangs snapped shut inches from his hands. Michonne let her katana, now a serpent, hit Reaper. The enraged creature struck, only to freeze when the stranger hissed something, calming the agitated snake instantly. Other cobras, probably Daryl's crossbow, Carol's rifle and Carl's pistol, slithered to form a half-circle before rising off the ground, hoods spread.

Daryl and Carol both lunged with their knives but before blades could slice at armor, a flick from Reaper's _magic_ wand paralyzed them both. "Don't move Carl," Rick ordered. "Easy." They took several cautious steps away from the furious snakes.

"Mr. Grimes," Rick fought back a wince. The chastising tone was almost teacher-like. "I do not appreciate being shot." He yanked out the crossbow bolt and pointed the stick at the resulting wound, muttering something in a foreign language. Instantly he relaxed, standing easier and the blood vanished. "However considering the circumstances I will forgive you."

"Why did you attack them?" Rick asked, low and warning, motioning toward the ruined shelter.

Rea—Harry smirked. "Find the truth yourself; you will believe your own investigations more readily than I." With a flick of his wand the serpents transformed back to weapons. Another twist allowed Daryl and Carol to move again. The two sprang up, knives ready. Turning away, the man vanished.

"The hell was that?" Daryl whispered.

"Reaper. He calls himself Harry. He can do impossible things," Rick explained. "Come on, let's investigate this place."

"He won't come back to kill us?" Carol asked suspiciously.

"He could've killed us now and didn't. Something strange was going on here." Something about all the concrete, not enough places to grow crops. About two different groups of people working together. About a camp being so welcoming at all. Everyone had their dark secrets these days.

Scanning the former Terminus camp wasn't difficult. Perhaps the Master of Death forced the walkers to ignore them but everyone dressed themselves in walker gore just in case. Fire's fury had reduced almost everything to ashes. Only one thing stood out among the darkness.

Bones.

"Human. Lots of them," Rick commented. He scrutinized the bones more closely, "These were all killed by blades."

"Not killed," Michonne said. "Look at all the strikes. Right on the joints. Knees, elbows…that's not how you kill."

"Butchered," Daryl concluded.

Rick froze, staring around at the burned camp. At the hundreds and hundreds of human bones. Human rib-cages. Human skulls. "They advertise as a camp of safety, lure people in here—"

"—Take their stuff, kill them and eat them," Carol concluded, nudging a half-melted grill from the ashes. A few human bones were fused to it.

"They were eating people?" Maggie came out of the smoke and gloom, looking around. "We—we were headed here for safety. Community."

"You weren't the only ones," Carol nudged a human skull.

"Good thing they're dead then," Daryl said.

"But what the hell was that man. He just—" Glenn froze with realization, "That was Reaper, wasn't he."

"Yeah. He teleported," Rick said. "And that's not the only thing he can do."

"Well, we ain't tracking them," Daryl concluded.

The reunited group gathered around the smudged ashes Daryl said were footprints, all gathered in a circle. The footprints just stopped.

As though the owners had vanished into thin air.

A/N: Hope everyone enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it :D Wasn't originally planning on doing this but the prospect of Master of Death Harry vs Rick's group was too tempting not to write.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Thank you all for your support and insightful reviews. I'm actually surprised at just how many people loved the fight scene, considering how fierce the debate of gun vs wand. I did try to write as realistic a scenario of a fight between Harry and Rick's group as possible.

Jen: Thank you, I'm glad you like this!

Now onto the next chapter!

 **The Hope**

"Hello Rick, I've been looking for you."

Rick could hardly believe his eyes. "I thought for sure you would've died by now." He smiled despite himself, "It's good to see you again."

"Good to see you too," Morgan replied. "If you need a safe place to stay, that's why I'm here. I'm a recruiter now."

"Good group?"

"Yes. They are not untouched by death but don't bow to it."

"We don't need shelter but my group is interested in trading, if you've anything to offer," Rick said.

Morgan smiled, "I think you'll find we have a lot to offer."

"Such as the assembly of firearms and bullets," Eugene pointed out, eyes on Morgan's gun. "The weapon you possess was not factory made and differs subtly in shape and form in comparison to pre-apocalyptic civilized manufacture of guns. Ergo your group obviously has firearm production capacity."

"It's only for the walkers," Morgan said.

That still perked Rick's interest. Their plan for manufacturing more bullets had been tanked by the savior's assault on Alexandria, cutting them off from the unused plant before destroying it. If they could trade for them… "Who's your leader?" he asked as they trekked toward the nearest road.

"A very influential figure you might know of. He's well known for his protection, true protection instead of extortion. Others, many others, have tried to conquer or threaten us." Morgan shook his head. "They are no longer doing so to anyone."

"What happened to them?"

"A few surrendered and we were able to save. Most are dead now. But our leader is a good soul. Eastman trusts him and he has the best judgment I've ever seen. Gives second chances. Of course he's powerful enough to grant mercy."

"So how long has this place been around?" Rick asked. "Since the beginning?"

Morgan paused just long enough to smash a passing walker's head. "I was only recruited months ago, probably while you and yours were still holed up in that prison but Kelly said the place was built later, after all the safe-houses had fallen. But our city is built for this future, to outlast a world infested by inferi—sorry walkers."

"Whata got ta trade?" Daryl asked.

"Everything and anything you could need in this new world: crops, seeds, animals, weapons. I wouldn't recommend trading for guns but depending on what you have that is a possibility."

"Really? Cars too?" Rick failed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Morgan nodded to a vehicle on the side of the road and held out some keys. Rick could hardly believe his ears—an engine turned over in a smooth purr. Between gasoline spoilage, lack of specialized, necessary fluids and break-down of important, specialized parts none of them had seen a running car in months.

"He makes them run just like magic." Morgan grinned like he was inviting them to enjoy a joke.

"And your boss just lets you trade these things?" Maggie sounded equally incredulous as she settled in the seats. In a world with cars practically gone and bullets running out, the prospect of getting more sounded too good to be true…and what could they possibly offer in return?

Michonne let out an impressed whistle when they finally came to the place. Morgan smiled with obvious pride. "And here we are, Espera City."

Nothing wrong with those walls—not wood like hilltop or chain-link like the prison or Terminus or even metal like Alexandria. These were walls built of thick, enormous blocks of stone as though a massive child fit together giant Lego's and stretched far enough to encompass a whole city.

"They say it had dirt walls in the beginning. Had to keep the inferi out while we were building somehow. Wish I had known about this place in the beginning," for a moment his thoughts went back to his son, "But he can't be everywhere, that's why I volunteered to help recruit."

Rising over the walls was an actual castle and watch-towers had been built in the boarder stone. Just beyond the fortification, curled like a fiercely protective serpent was an honest-to-god moat. It looked the very definition of safety in a world where such a concept was dead as the walkers. Even if a tank charged those walls and got past the moat somehow Rick would put even odds on the solid stone holding. This wasn't going to be taken down by a herd of walkers.

"Stop!" Rick hissed. The second Morgan halted the car he had left, keeping crouched down and out of sight.

Like other doomed pieces of civilization, this one was already surrounded by the dead.

Now they were close enough to see the walkers as more than an odd blob in front of the moat. The group spread out, hunkered down and watched the creatures they had become so familiar with behave so eerily.

"What are you doing?" Morgan frowned, rising out of the car.

"The walkers," Rick hissed.

They were still. That was the very first thing Rick noticed. So still he hadn't even realized what they were until now. Normal walkers never stopped shambling, grasped at the presence of any living thing or just worked their jaws. These walkers were upright and unbound, but each and every single one stood rigid as stone.

Rick felt the hairs all over his body bristle.

People walked on top of those walls, not bothering to soften their footsteps or voices or duck out of sight. Normal walkers would be reaching for them, fingertips clawing at stone to get at whatever they could hear inside.

Yet not a walker moved.

"That's creepy," Michonne whispered.

"They're harmless now," Morgan said.

Hesitantly the group began to approach the odd walkers, all of which, Rick noted, were armed with very similar looking weapons. Just clubs, but lethally spiked ones capable of landing a killing blow if they struck the right place. Rick had never seen a walker with a weapon in their _hands_. They reached for living flesh; anything they held got dropped in a hurry.

This close he also noticed every single walker had metal melted all over their heads, not enough to keep them from biting but enough to block arrows or bullets and keep them lurching. Forever.

"Someone's working with them somehow," Carol added. "They didn't get armor and clubs by themselves."

Yes, someone had done something with the walkers, turned them into odd guards—ones unable to be easily killed.

"Halt! Who goes there!" Someone shouted from the wall.

Rick jerked, eyes automatically flickering toward the sound to see another woman holding a gun at the ready, then toward the walkers that didn't even turn their heads. Rick could only remember twice in his life when an upright, moving walker stayed still.

"It's alright Kelly, they're with me."

"New residents?"

"Traders looking to do some business."

Rick spoke up. "Morgan said this was a good place to trade."

"It is," said a voice. The voice able to stop a walker in mid-bite; none other than Reaper, once again on his skeletal nightmare. Carol pulled out a knife, Daryl hefted his crossbow, Michonne gripped her katana handle tight, Eugene bit back a scream and hoisted his gun up. But no one moved. No one dared fire. Not after last time.

Harry raised an eyebrow, "No twitchy trigger fingers this time?" he asked lightly. The group tensed further but no one dared fire. Morgan glanced uneasily between his leader and his friend before planting his staff, not facing one side or the other.

Part of Rick wanted to keep the gun up, if only for the illusion of safety. But that's all it would be, an illusion. An illusion against a being capable of casting them. Wouldn't it be safer to be a little more accepting of a being powerful enough to kill him with a flick of a stick? Carol had shot him before and he hadn't killed them for it. Had their positions been reversed, Rick certainly wouldn't have had such strength.

But Rick had the strength and self-preservation to lower his weapon now. Harry was not his enemy. He killed cannibals and rescued their victims. He took other groups to his safe haven and accepted Rick's insane refusal to do the same.

And faintly he heard the laughter of children.

Rick lowered his colt. The others began doing the same.

"I may be able to deal with a bullet or arrow like a scratch but my citizens can't heal themselves so easily. Unload your weapons and keep them sheathed while in my city. If you fire them at all it had better be to save lives."

"Fair enough," Rick said to the being who even now could kill them all.

"You may enter." Harry said to them, then turned to the walkers. "Part."

Finally the dead moved. They spread away in a wave like walls of water before Moses, leaving the doors unbarred. How eerie it was to walk among walkers who did not attack, though not half so eerie as to be granted safety by Death himself. Rick looked between the commanded walkers and their master.

And entered.

 **A/N:** Thanks to Harry's recruiting some people who would have died ended up living, including Eastman—personally I thought his was a stupid death, couldn't the writers at least use a whole gang of zombies to take down the martial artist?—and instead of striking out on his own to search for Rick after Eastman's death, Morgan becomes a recruiter in Espera and searches for Rick while recruiting people close to the city. Originally I thought to write some OCs to guide Rick and his group to Harry's city but why bother when there are loads of actual characters from the show to put in those roles.

Hope everyone enjoyed :D


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N** : Wow! Last chapter got a lot of reviews! Thank you all :D This story has become so much better for all your support and insight. Alas, all good things must come to an end. Here's the last chapter.

Littleheartache: Glad you enjoy and here's your update :D

Luc: I'm rather sparing on the details in the walking dead universe because for the most part Rick has had the same experiences in my story as in the show. That would make the story rather boring for everyone who's watched walking dead—which is probably most of the people reading WD fanfic. Sorry.

 **The End**

Rick had underestimated just how enormous Espera was. After walking through a tunnel of stone wall he entered a place which did justice to the name 'city.' If he had recruited by the individual and Negan recruited by the gang, Harry had recruited by the country. Thousands of living people milled around like the crowds in Atlanta—from before.

Except they weren't like the crowds in Atlanta. He had never seen such a colorful array of people. Conversation buzzed with the lilt and tone of dozens of languages: Spanish and Korean and words he couldn't match a language to. Houses as varied as the faces lined real, newly-built streets. He jerked slightly at the sight of one familiar face—a man who had threatened to have Glenn fed to his bloodthirsty dogs. Then the former janitor vanished into the crowd.

The land was stuffed to the brim with plants. Lawns turned to crop-fields. Rooftop gardens were the fashion. Vines clung to fences.

And people everywhere—men, women, children training, running errands, doing jobs, playing games. Just living. Even Alexandria hadn't had quite this. It cradled civilization but this place let civilization stretch its arms and grow. This was hope the time of the dead would be killed by its master.

A shot silenced everyone.

A softer pop followed and Harry was simply gone. His steed stopped nonchalantly as though its rider vanishing from its back was nothing to be fussed about. Everyone whipped their heads around, searching for the man.

"Do any of you maintain an iota of understanding regarding the sheer number of natural and scientific laws that breaks," Eugene commented.

"Up top," Morgan pointed.

The walls were even more impressive from the inside where a person could see they were actually massive bleachers of stone, making them dozens of feet thick at the bottom and easy for the citizens to climb. Impossible for outsiders. At the very last 'stair' some thirty feet off the ground stood Espera's leader, still in armor. Rick was the first one to rush up top, just in time to hear Harry's counter-offer.

"—if you release your hostages, leave now and harm no one else."

"You're going to let us in," commanded another voice. "I think we can work with each other."

"No you don't. You think you can take over," Harry pointed out. "I've heard of you Negan and however-much a 'good' man you may say you are—"

"—as good a man as you say you are. We trade protection for food; keep those we protect walker-free and safe."

"But do nothing to teach such people to defend themselves, nor do you live with them or learn how to produce your own food," Harry said. "You are mercenaries and parasites at best—at worst happy murderers."

"Come off that high horse why don't you," Negan returned, "Let's talk man to man."

Harry's mouth twisted with scorn as he twisted his wand toward a random rock, "Let's not."

The stone vanished, instantly replaced by a terrified older man was in his place, though the terror dropped from his face at the sight of Morgan and Kelly and he shuddered. "Never get used to that switching magic."

Rick peered carefully over the edge of the wall, which was specifically built with the purpose in mind. Several of Negan's group had jerked back in surprise at the sudden disappearance of their final hostage, but their leader seemed to expect this impossibility.

A tank backed Negan's group up.

"Leave, and do no harm to others. Join another group or build your own civilization but stop this parasitism," Harry ordered.

Before a single trigger finger could twitch, Harry's wand finished its final sweep. Every single fighter held a serpent. Negan threw his away, "Okay. Okay. We're leaving."

He held up a hand.

Harry cast another spell faster than even Voldemort had. Recognizing the signal, Rick threw himself flat.

A blast rang out so powerfully it felt like a physical blow from behind the rock wall. The tank. Only it wasn't just the tank. A sniper, whose shot was wholly engulfed by the larger weapon, had targeted Harry. For a moment Rick froze, sure the man hadn't—

But of course the Master of Death didn't die, though this time he looked a little shaky as he staggered to his feet, armor caked with debris squashed flat, magical shield shards lying like the remnants of a shattered snow-globe before vanishing. Without both armor and magic shield, Rick had no doubt the man would have been dead.

If he could die?

The leader of Espera City cast a few more spells over himself before speaking. "That won't work."

Negan obviously hadn't anticipated that bit of impossibility. "We're going then," he said, backing away.

"You're going to come back," Harry said with certainty, as though he could read the man's mind. Maybe he could.

"We're going."

Harry raised his wand. "No. You're not."

Espera city escorted thirty more prisoners into its walls, Negan's tank leaping and barking around the oddly-docile gang in the shape of a dog. Because Harry had turned a tank into a dog. A tank. A dog. Rick shook his head before it broke and Morgan gave him an understanding pat. "If you choose to stick around, you'll get used to the impossible. Almost enough to give a man hope. "He left, heading toward Negan's subdued group.

"Kelly, go with Morgan. Ask about their supplies. Then take some people and investigate. Be warned, they will probably have inferi guards."

"Got it." She signaled several other people to come along with her.

Harry turned toward Rick. "Now, where were we?"

* * *

Rick had never felt more fear than when he entered Harry's office and didn't even know what he feared, only that it swam like lead in his veins. Harry's magic had somehow blocked a tank shell. Negan had been taken away as docilely as Michonne's walkers. Somehow those things were far worse than a new weapon of death. "I'm sorry for shooting at you. And I speak for my group about that. We shouldn't have been so trigger-happy."

"It could get you killed," Harry agreed lightly. "Not as though you did any lasting harm. Not to me." Rick had no doubt if he shot at any of the people under the Master's protection, he would not be let off so lightly.

Maybe he would even join the walkers outside the door.

"What will happen to Negan and his people?"

"Eastman is examining them now. He's the best I've seen for pegging the difference between people who can be rehabilitated and people who are simply evil. He and Morgan will attend to them while they bask in our jails."

Now the big question: "What did you do to them? I thought you could only control walkers like that?" Rick was amazed his voice came out steady.

The Master of Death seemed to take his time settling behind his desk, bidding Rick have a seat in one of the guest chairs. Finally he answered. "That was the imperious curse." Again he hesitated before saying two words the former cop already suspected. "Mind control."

Rick said nothing; did nothing.

"Better than the killing curse, which isn't so reversible."

But with mind control a friend, a family, his son or himself could become an unknown, secret enemy. No one would know who was or wasn't a prisoner in their own minds. "We heard rumors about you. About people dying in a flash of light," Rick dared ask.

Harry smiled wryly, "I've heard rumors about you as well. About people dying in a burst of sound."

The Alexandria leader nodded. "The Terminus camp. They were cannibals weren't they?"

"Yes," Harry said. "The way this world…is they weren't the first or last, though the first I've seen so organized. Usually it's a desperate person who eats another."

"You still broke into the Terminus camp and killed them all."

Harry nodded, "Yes. I'll not have people willing to eat _babies_ behind my walls," Rick clenched at the chair, eyes hard, "or continuing the same. Some people _are_ too far gone. I did not do the same to Negan, nor will I do the same to you."

For now, Rick thought and wiped that idea out of his mind. "How, how can you do the things you do? How is any of that possible? Magic?"

"Yes. I came from another world. One magical wormhole dropped me not far from your little speed chase. But at least the Dark Lady Medea is permanently dead."

"And you've been saving people ever since," Rick said.

"As many as I can. Some people can't be saved and others," he gave Alexandria's leader an amused look, "Don't want to be saved."

"I was crazy."

"That you were," Harry agreed.

Rick narrowed his eyes. "You sound too good to be true," he pointed out.

"Some would say the same thing about you. A man willing to risk his life for his people and invite new people in his settlement with nothing more than three questions—Morgan found some of your people scattered after the fall of the prison."

"We refused some people."

"As did I."

"Why do you help so much?"

"Because I can. Because I have been accused of many things, but never of sitting on my arse when people were in trouble and danger threatened." His eyes flashed with sadness, as though remembering a time when that philosophy had steered him wrong.

"How long did it take you to build this?"

"Too long," Harry shook his head. "At first, like you, I simply cleared out an old building of inferi and made it a safe-haven. A military fortress. It wasn't enough. Not when anyone could die in their sleep and turn inside the fortress. Back then we didn't know everyone who died would turn and most were asleep when the first person turned." Rick nodded, remembering the prison. "I began working on a new building, this one; a place built for the apocalypse rather than for the era before. A place adapted to the world as is now. A place for the future."

Rick still couldn't shake his worry. A tank and a sniper combined hadn't been enough to kill the magician, even if some of the damage clearly couldn't be magicked away. Backed up by a carefully-built city-state and gun-wielding people as loyal as any. The only reason he wasn't invading, killing and burning Alexandria was due to some moral code that hadn't broken down yet.

Rick knew all about moral codes breaking down.

Harry continued. "Civilization will be re-built. Re-newed. But only if we work together. If I only horde things for my own people…well you've seen how well shutting out others to protect only your family works. Humanity does best united, not fighting each other. So, will you join us?"

"No, so long as I have the choice," Rick said carefully. "But I'm not too proud to accept a little help, if you'd have Morgan deliver it."

"Understandable," Harry said.

They shook.

 **A/N:** Well that's all folks! And more than I ever intended to write. I think the original of this had like five 'chapters.' But as usual I grew so inspired by the comments I got so I kept writing and writing. Anyway hope everyone enjoyed one of my spins on Master of Death Harry Potter in the Walking Dead :D


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